Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

RAFAEL

One week later …

"Alright, motherfuckers!" Zeke yells good naturedly as I step into the library for our monthly meeting. "Give Prez your undivided attention."

A collection of chuckles sound as I sit at the head of the table. I make it a point not to look to my left, where Christian usually sat. This is our first meeting since he passed and despite Zeke's attempt to lighten the mood, we are all feeling Christian's absence.

I slide the gavel closer to me, then lean back in my chair. I tap my middle and index fingers against my chin, preparing myself to say words I never thought I would. It takes a long moment to shove them past my throat and they taste bitter on my tongue.

"We need to elect a new vice president."

Sadness settles over everyone and a few people clear their throats, filling the silence. I look around at the faces of my brothers, seeing their grief clearly reflected back at me. While I'd like to leave the position vacant to honor his memory, it's not conducive to the MC and would do us a disservice. It's time we get back to normal, even if it hurts.

"I propose Jace, our current sergeant at arms." I let the announcement hang in the air for everyone to absorb before I say more. Once the fidgeting and sniffles have died down, I continue. "Jace is loyal to the club, smart, organized, and will be an asset as my right hand. As you all know, votes must be unanimous. A single no vote will nullify putting him forth until our next meeting." Sounds of assent reach my ears. "All those in favor? Let's start with you, Enforcer."

Zeke pulls his lips in, but nods. "I vote yes."

"Pete?"

A single tear rolls down Pete's face, but his voice betrays nothing as he says, "Yes."

I go around and ask my brothers one by one if they're in favor of Jace filling the role and they all agree. "It's settled. Jace, come up here, hermano."

Jace blows out a long breath and comes to sit beside me. "Thanks, brothers," he says in a voice filled with sorrow and awe. Everyone comes around and gives him hugs and shoulder slaps, congratulating him. Pete takes Jace's cut and starts to rip the thread from his Sergeant at Arms patch to replace it with Vice President.

Once everyone has taken their seats, I get down to business. "We have a new acquisition. Another tattoo parlor. The staff has agreed to stay on board, so all we have to do is collect the money. It's in the college district and they say business has been steady for over thirty years. It'll be a good cash cow."

Pete raises his hand, halting what he's doing with Jace's cut. "Think I can apprentice there as a tattooer? I've been wanting to get into it for a while." He pauses and swallows roughly. "I talked it over with Christian and he was going to bring it to you. At this meeting."

I raise an eyebrow. I didn't know Pete was interested in tattooing. "I'll talk it over with the lead tattoo artist to see if he'll accept an apprentice. I don't have a problem with it as long as you don't neglect your duties as mechanic and keep your fucking PT appointments." I know sometimes Pete thinks he's tough, not going to his physical therapy appointments and coming to the clubhouse limping and his knuckles bruised like he caught himself on the floor from falling. The accident that injured his leg was well over a year ago, but I suppose he's still feeling the effects of that and the surgery.

He nods and thanks me and we move on to other orders of business. We don't have to vote on anything further, mostly go over finances and who owes dues. This is a mid-month meeting, so there isn't much that needs to be discussed.

The meeting is winding down when the buzzer by the door goes off. Since we don't have prospects to keep watch at the gate, we have motion sensors set up to be alerted anytime someone approaches. Everyone that needs to be at the clubhouse is here, so our visitors now are unwelcome.

"Incoming," Zeke says unnecessarily, charging to the door. I follow at a more sedate pace. My brothers won't let anyone get past them.

When I round the corner, I see two policemen exiting a cruiser—Chance, our man on the inside that keeps us abreast on bullshit going on inside the police department; and the new chief of police.

The last chief of police had it out for me and ended up running the gauntlet before I killed him for trying to take my club down. This new one ain't half bad, as far as cops go. He keeps out of my way and I make sure I leave bodies outside the city limits so he doesn't have to clean up behind us .

"What can I do for you, Chief?" Zeke asks, crossing his arms over his chest, standing with his feet shoulder width apart.

He looks around Zeke and meets my eyes. Something in their depths give me pause, especially when he removes his hat and places it over his heart.

I push past Zeke and stand in front of the man. "What is it?"

"We got a red cross message ten minutes ago. Are you the brother of Elena Suarez?"

It's like a gut punch hearing her name. I haven't heard from Elena in over twenty years, not after hearing her say she wanted nothing to do with me when I was nineteen and came to retrieve her.

It had taken a while to find my way after I immigrated to the United States and even longer to locate Elena. When I did, she shouted at me, saying she knew I had something to do with our mother's death. She was convinced that I contacted my father and told him where we were. I'm not sure where she got that idea from, but she wouldn't hear reason. She refused to see me again. Eventually, I gave up. I hardened my heart against her and tried to shove her out of my mind so the tatters that made up my soul wouldn't fray any more.

Clearing my mind of the past, I meet the Chief's eyes and nod. "Yeah. Why?"

"She's at Charlotte-Atrium General in Ashville, North Carolina. She was in a horrible car accident. Her husband passed away from his injuries and she's in rough shape. You need to hurry."

Another gut punch, thinking about Elena being hurt. Of all the reasons for them to be here, I didn't think the police were bringing me this news. Not Elena. Not my hermanita.

I take off running to my bike so I can get on the road now. I don't have time to change from my clothes for a long ride or grab my helmet. I need to go.

Jace shouts for me to hold on just as I'm tossing my leg over my chopper, safety be damned. "No," he says, grabbing my arm. I push him off roughly, about to flick up the kickstand. He stumbles, but keeps his footing, rushing back over to me and grabbing my handlebars. I glare at him, lip peeled back to tell him to back the fuck down, but he gives the glare right back. "No, Prez. Let me drive you. You're not in the right headspace! You'll fucking kill yourself! You don't have on your leathers or your fucking boots! We just lost Christian!"

That gets through to me. I can't leave my brothers. Not after our terrible loss. I need to get to my sister, but it won't do if I'm splattered on the side of the road, no leathers, no boots, no fucking helmet. With the way I'm feeling, I know I'll make reckless decisions, trying to get to her. I'm not usually like this, so impulsive, but my blood is thrumming through my veins with the need to do something.

With a sound of frustration, I pull out my keys and toss them to Jace as we hurry to my SUV. His mom van won't get us to North Carolina in less than five hours with the traffic we're bound to hit. If Jace drives over eighty the whole way in my SUV, even hitting rush hour, we can make it there in less than four hours. I just fucking hope she holds on for me.

We climb inside and Jace starts the car and races down the hill. He hits the highway in less than twenty minutes and fucking guns it.

My mind is scrambled. I can't think of anything but get there, get there, get there!

" I'm driving as fast as I can," Jace says as if from far away. "We'll be there in less than an hour."

Less than an hour? I come back to myself and bring my surroundings into focus. New scenery tells me we're no longer in Mellbind or even Chattanooga. We must have been on the road for hours. I fucking zoned out and was pulled back into the past, in Cuba where Elena and I used to laugh, talk, play, be siblings. Now, she's hurt and we haven't bridged that gap in over twenty years.

Before I know it, the GPS is telling us we've arrived at our destination. Jace pulls up right at the emergency room entrance and I jump out, racing to the reception desk.

The nurse behind it gives me an odd look, raising an eyebrow at me. "Can I help you, sir?"

"I need to see Elena Suarez," I rush to say, drumming on the desk with nervous fingers. When she looks at me with a bored expression, I bang my fist on the surface. She jumps, putting her hand over her heart. "Fucking now! Find her! Elena Suarez."

She turns shakily to the computer and types quickly. "Second floor, room 286. Take the exit here, turn left and you'll see the elevator bank in front of you."

I take off, pushing through the door to the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. When I get to the second floor, I throw the door open hard enough for it to bang against the wall. I ignore the sound, even as a few people walking the hall look at me. I glance left and right for the direction of room 286. When I get to corresponding room, I step inside and find it empty. The bedding is rumpled and there are wires on the floors, machines pushed haphazardly around, but no Elena.

With a snarl, I exit the room and look for a nurse. When I locate one, I grab her by her shoulders to stop her. Unlike the nurse downstairs, this one looks like she's having none of my shit. She raises an eyebrow and looks at my hands as if she can't believe I put my hands on her. She's a tough one, but I can't admit that right now. "Sir, take your hands off me before I call security. "

"Fuck security," I growl. "Where is Elena Suarez? The nurse said she was in room 286. It's fucking empty. Where is she?" I yell loud enough to rock my own eardrums, but the nurse just looks at me evenly.

She pats one of my hand and says, "Come on, sugar. Let me get you to someone that can help you."

Anger still simmering but knowing there's nothing I can do if I don't want to be tossed out on my ass with no answers, I drop my hands, blow out a breath and step back. I push my hand through my hair, tugging at the strands since I don't know what the fuck to do. I always have the answers. I always know what to do, but right now, I'm fucking clueless.

Sighing heavily again, I nod. "Yeah. Okay." Begrudgingly, I say, "Thanks." A warm smile stretches her brown cheeks before she pats my hand again and starts off down the hallway. I have no choice but to follow.

She leads me to a waiting room and tells me to have a seat, but I can't. I'm too restless, too amped up. So, I pace. Back and forth, back and forth, eight steps forward, eight steps back. Over and over again for untold minutes. I wear a track in the room, impatient to hear what the fuck is going on, but dreading getting bad news. The sound of my shoes hitting the linoleum floor is the only noise to be heard, since I'm making a conscious effort to control my erratic breathing.

Sometime later, Jace finds me, but he doesn't speak or ask me to stop pacing. He simply sits in one of the chairs and follows me with his eyes but gives me space. The staring is fucking working my nerves, but I think I would snap and attack Jace if he tried to touch me right now. My brother knows me well.

Thirty minutes later, a doctor in green scrubs walks in, his face grave and his brown hair flopping over his high forehead. He sighs and holds his hand out for me to shake. "I'm Dr. Goldberg. I was the lead surgeon on your sister's case tonight."

I pause, looking down at his hand, but don't take it. "Where is she?"

He lowers his hand and fiddles with the pens in his pocket, then does the same to his stethoscope. "Mr. Suarez?—"

"Orozco," I correct. Jace comes to stand beside me, his quiet strength grounding me.

"Mr. Orozco," he amends. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but Elena died from a massive stroke. She had severe internal bleeding, but we remedied that when she was brought in during emergency surgery. She was in recovery and we thought she was on the mend when her vital signs tanked. We tried to get her back, but … I'm sorry, sir, but we did everything we could."

Blood rushes through my ears as I absorb what he just said. It can't be. Not her. Not her too. Elena is gone. My little sister. My hermanita.

"Fuck," Jace whispers, putting a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Prez."

The doctor raises an eyebrow but doesn't ask questions. "Can I see her?" My voice cracks, so I clear my throat and ask again. "Elena? Can I see my sister?"

"Of course," Dr. Goldberg says quickly, but compassionately. "If you'll follow me."

Jace gives me a pat on the shoulder and another whispered condolence before I follow the doctor.

He leads me down winding hallways, to an elevator we take down many floors until we arrive in the basement. He ushers me out and walks in front of me. My eyes drift involuntarily up to the sign on the archway in bright blue letters. Morgue.

Dr. Goldberg tells me to wait a moment, steps into a room and quickly shuts the door. Again, I pace the small area, willing my body by force not to shiver in the cold, decrepit space. It feels ominous here. It feels … dead.

A few minutes later, his face looking even more somber, Dr Goldberg opens the door wide and gestures me inside. When I step in, there's a table in the middle of the floor, a sheet pulled over the very obvious body. I've seen plenty of bodies in my years in Devil's Mayhem. Some that I was responsible for sending to the afterlife. But none were my hermanita. This is different.

Dragging in a deep breath, I step over to the table and Dr. Goldberg nods at the attendant, who lowers the sheet. I come face to face with Elena for the first time in over twenty years. She's gotten older. Prettier. Age and growth turned her into a beautiful woman. Though she's bruised and had deep cuts along her cheek and forehead, she's gorgeous. She looks just like Mama.

"Take all the time you need," Dr. Goldberg says, standing at a respectful distance.

I gaze down at the face of my little sister, trying to memorize all the lines and grooves, discarding the cuts and bruises. I run a finger over her forehead to brush her hair back like I used to do when we were children. She used to hate her bangs, saying when she was old enough, she'd ask Mama not to cut them anymore. Looks like she embraced them as she aged. Her hair was always thick and wild just over her forehead. It was one of my favorite things about her. With my eyes closed, my memory conjures up her giggles as she slapped my hand away from messing with her thick tresses.

So much has changed, so much time has passed. Now it's too late.

After a few minutes, I pull the sheet over her face and stalk out of the room without a word. I stomp down the hall to the elevator and angrily press the up button, wanting, no, needing to get the fuck out of here. After all these years, seeing Elena like that … it's too much. The tatters. The frayed edges. They're burning and it's all I can do to keep it together before they completely disintegrate, leaving me a hollowed out husk.

"Mr. Orozco, wait," Dr. Goldberg says behind me. "I have her personal effects, as well as those of her husband, Alejandro. Also, there is a social worker that needs to have a word with you."

I ignore him, no longer interested in anything he has to say. My sister is dead. There's nothing else I have to do here. It's done. I'll have the hospital ship her body to Tennessee where I'll hold a private service for her and add her to the tally of the dead that I house in my steel covered heart.

He manages to catch the elevator before it shuts and my glare does nothing to make him step off. Seems like the citizens around here are made of sterner stuff than Mellbind.

When we step off the elevator, Dr. Goldberg branches off to the nurses' station at a hurried clip. I pat my pockets, searching for my phone so I can text Jace, but I remember I left it on the charger in my office. I left so fast, I didn't get the chance to grab it. Luckily, I had my wallet in my pocket. I curse, wanting to get out of this fucking hospital, but I have no way of contacting Jace besides finding him. I think about having the nurses page him, but I don't want to talk to anyone.

I get lost on my way to the waiting room because my mind is too clouded to follow the directions on the walls. Running my hand through my hair, I stop walking and look down at my feet, pulling in several long breaths to clear my mind. I push images of grown-up Elena—with her thick bangs covering the wide gash on her forehead—from my mind and try to fucking get myself under control. I'm never out of sorts. Even when Christian died, even when the club was threatened, even when we were raided after Sam called that tip in about Rax, I never lost my cool. I can't start now. If I do, I won't be able to rein it back in.

Deep breathing doesn't completely work, but I'm able to focus enough to locate the sign that points to the waiting room we were in.

When I step inside, I see a short, severely rigid woman standing next to Jace. He up nods me and steps away from the woman. "Hey, Prez," he says. "You okay?"

"Fine. Let's go."

"Mr. Orozco?" the woman asks, her heels clicking on the floor as she makes her way over to me. "I'm Sharon Clive. A social worker here."

"So?" I say in frustration. "Why do I need to know that?"

She raises an eyebrow, not taking kindly to my attitude, but I don't give a fuck. I'm barely holding it together. "Well," she says, "I have your nephew, who was in the accident with your sister Elena and brother-in-law, Alejandro."

My back goes ramrod straight. "My what?"

"Your nephew," she repeats slowly like I'm dense. She releases a long sigh and puts her hand on my forearm. "He was in the car with your sister and brother-in-law, but he was uninjured. We've run several tests on him and he's as fit as a fiddle. When I verify your identity, you may take him home. I know this is a difficult time for you and your family, but he'll need you now."

"No."

She steps back, sizing me up before she repeats, "No? What do you mean no?"

"No," I say more firmly. "I don't want a kid. I didn't sign up to be a parent. Find someone else."

With an incredulous look on her face, she says, "You realize that if you refuse custody of your nephew, he will be turned over to child welfare services. He'll go into foster care, something your sister was adamant about not wanting before her untimely death. He will be a ward of the state."

I raise an eyebrow and open my mouth to reiterate that I don't give a fuck, but before I can, Jace says, "Excuse us," to the social worker. He grips my bicep and drags me away with such force that I almost trip over my own feet.

Once we're a few feet away from the social worker, my back to her, Jace grasps my arm in an iron grip. His face is screwed up in a scowl. "What the fuck, man? What are you doing?"

If it were any other situation, I would have knocked Jace on his ass and beat him to a fucking pulp. But right now, my mind is racing, a million thoughts whizzing past at once. When I think I pin one down, it jets away and another takes its place.

Growling, I rip my arm from his hold and run my hand through my hair, tugging at the strands. "I can't take care of a child, Jace. I'm the president of a fucking motorcycle club!" I whisper shout. "How the fuck am I supposed to take care of a fucking kid?"

Surprisingly, Jace steps closer to me, almost threateningly as he crowds my space. "So? I'm the new vice president and I have three. I had three when I was fucking sergeant at arms. That's no fucking excuse." His gaze bores into me, anger brimming in his eyes.

Jace is a damn good father, he and his old lady popping them out back-to-back. He's happy, loving his family. But I'm not him. I've never wanted children. Never had the desire to be a dad. Elena shouldn't have put this on me after twenty years of fucking radio silence.

"That's the last piece of your sister. Don't be an asshole, Prez." Jace grabs my arm again and turns me around.

In the time that Jace and I were talking, the social worker went to get the kid. It's a baby. An involuntary gasp leaves my lips as I look at him. He looks just like Elena, the same wide, dark eyes, the same dark hair flopping in his face and the same tan skin. He looks sleepy but babbles a grin at me and his whole face lights up just like my sister's.

I can't do it. I can't take him. I can't look at his face every day and see Elena staring back at me in those wide brown eyes. It's too much. It's too much to see this baby that is a part of my sister when I hadn't clapped eyes on her before I saw her fucking body less than an hour ago.

Jace steps to my side and mutters, "We'll all help. But if you let them take him away and live with some random family, you'll regret it."

I look at him with a snarl. "Shut the fuck up before I put you on your ass."

He shoots me a humorless smirk. "We're in the hospital, so I can get patched up quickly."

I grunt and turn back to the social worker. "Why can't he go with his father's kin?"

Her scowl is legendary. It puts mine to shame. "From what Mrs. Suarez told me, her husband, Alejandro, had no family. He grew up in foster care, which is why she didn't want it for her own child. Trust me, Mr. Orozco, if there were another option, you would not be getting this baby. Your attitude doesn't suggest he'll have a great home life, but your sister was very clear on what she wanted in the event of her death."

I bristle at her implication. "His home life will be fine," I say through gritted teeth. I hold out my arms for the baby. The quicker I take him and we get out of here, the better.

"Your ID, Mr. Orozco."

Huffing in frustration, I pull out my wallet and snap my ID out, holding it in front of her face. She deftly takes it from my fingers, peering down at it like she's trying to memorize my full name, address and organ donor status .

Appearing satisfied, she hands my license back to me and I shove my wallet in my pocket. I hold my hands out again for her to hand me the baby.

Sharon's scowl deepens and she looks down at the baby, my nephew , bouncing him a little. "Now," I growl.

She turns hard eyes on me, then takes a few steps closer and puts the baby in my open arms. His slight, but solid weight settles into me. I look down at him and have to bite back a curse. He's the spitting image of Elena, down to the thick, black hair that is an unruly mess on his head.

If I'd known Elena had a baby, I would have told Jace to drive his mom van. Now we have to get a car seat.

I swallow past an unexpected lump in my throat. "How old is he?"

"Almost six months," Sharon says. I keep the wince to myself. So little time with his mother. So little time with a normal life with someone that will love him.

Clearing my throat, I ask, "What's his name?"

Sharon steps closer, smiling as she pushes the lock of black hair from his face. The baby follows her finger, then reaches up and grabs it, holding on tight. Sharon coos at him, saying some nonsense in baby talk. It annoys me, so I huff and give her a hard look.

She purses her lips and steps back with an expression that she wishes she could take him home with her instead of handing him over to me. "Rafael. His name is Rafael."